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Against my better judgment, I place my hand in his. His fingers immediately curl around mine, warm and solid.

“Why me, Vesper?” Zaire's voice cracks slightly, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “You've let the others close. Oscar,Talon—even Alex. But you're pushing me away. Specifically, me.”

“Because your guilt is eating you alive, Z. I see it every time you look at me. You think you failed because you weren't the one to put a bullet in Mario.”

His fingers tighten around mine, but he doesn't deny it.

“And now you're treating me like I'm made of glass.” The words tumble out faster now, sharper. “Like I'll shatter if you turn your back for even a second. I hate it. I'm not some fragile doll that needs to be protected and coddled.”

“That's not?—”

“It is,” I cut him off. “You hover. You watch. You barely sleep because you’re too busy making sure I’m still breathing. And the worst part?” I pull my hand from his, the loss of his warmth instant and jarring. “The worst part is you’re not looking at me—you’re looking at someone broken. A victim.”

Zaire's jaw tightens, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. “That's not true.”

“No? Then why can’t I sleep alone? Why are you fighting with the guys? You were ready to take off Alex’s head becauseIasked him to stay with me about the photos.”

Zaire's expression darkens at the mention of Alex. “That was different,” he snaps, his accent thickening with emotion. “He had no right to even tell you about?—”

“To show me what they did to my body? I know what they did. I lived through it. For two years.” I push back the tangled sheets further, sitting up straighter. “This is exactly what I'm talking about, Z. You can't keep doing this.”

“You don't understand what it's like,” he starts, "to see you in pain and know I could have prevented it.”

“That's your guilt talking, not your heart.” The words come out softer than I intended. “And I can't heal with you drowning in it beside me.”

“I can’t lose you again," he finally admits. “I saw you clinging to Oz on that floor, shattering all over again for killing that fucking bastard, and I lost it.”

“You're not losing me.” The words hanging between us like fragile glass. “But you're suffocating me. You love control, I know that. In the bedroom, I’m okay with that. In fact, I love it. But, when I am trying to make a decision for myself, you need to let me do it, and you need to respect it.”

Zaire flinches as if I've struck him. His silver eyes swim with an emotion I rarely see—fear.

“I need to breathe, Z. I need to process everything without feeling your guilt pressing down on me, too.”

“Tell me how to fix this, Vesper. Tell me what you need from me.”

The sincerity in his question catches me off guard. I expected resistance, not surrender.

“I need you to trust me.” I reach out to brush my fingers against his stubbled jaw. “Trust that I'm strong enough to face my demons. Trust that asking for space doesn't mean I'm pushing you away forever.”

His hand captures mine, pressing it more firmly against his cheek. “I do trust you. It's everything else I don't trust.”

“The world isn't going to collapse if you let go for a little while.”

“So long as you are in my world, I will never be able to let go, moya koroleva. If you leave it before me, I will burn it down and go with you.”

I inhale sharply at his words. The Russian endearment—my queen—both warms and frustrates me.

“That's exactly what I'm talking about. You can't keep?—”

“I know.” He cuts me off, surprising me. “I know what I'm doing, Vesper. I just don't know how to stop. My brain knows you're strong—fuck, you're the strongest person I've ever met—but my heart...it’s another story.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’ve never loved someone as much as I love you, Vesper. I want to protect you from the world so that I know every day when I wake up, you’re still here. Still safe.”

I swallow hard, his confession hanging in the air between us. How do I respond to that level of devotion when it's both everything I want but not something that I can handle right now?

“We need to find a middle ground. Because I can't live in a gilded cage, Z. Not even one built by you.”

He nods slowly, his thumb tracing circles on my wrist where he still holds my hand against his face. “What does that middle ground look like to you?”

It's a fair question, and one I haven't fully considered. What do I want? Space, yes, but not emptiness. Freedom, but not abandonment.